


M's Sterek Week 2015 Fics

by mikkimouse



Series: Tumblr Fics [26]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, see chapter notes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:30:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5616973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkimouse/pseuds/mikkimouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 7 fics and ficlets, originally posted for Sterek Week 2015. See chapter notes for individual tags. </p>
<p>Chapter 1 - In Which Games Are Played (established relationship, domestic fluff, parent!Sterek)<br/>Chapter 2 - In Which a King and a Mage Meet (historical AU, king!Derek, mage!Stiles)<br/>Chapter 3 - In Which Hunters Kidnap The Wrong One (established relationship, drugged!Derek, Halloween)<br/>Chapter 4 - In Which There is Apple Pie (AU, chef!Stiles, artist!Derek, overbearing!Talia)<br/>Chapter 5 - In Which There Is a Hug and a Wedding (movie fusion, pirate!Derek, pirate!Stiles, established relationship)<br/>Chapter 6 - In Which There Are Stories to Be Told (song-based, future fic, pre-slash)<br/>Chapter 7 - In Which There Is An Accidental Scare (AU, single dads, Halloween)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Games Are Played

**Author's Note:**

> I've done my best to add tags properly, but if you think I've missed something, please let me know. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Established relationship, parent!Sterek, fluff.
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr [here](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/131901217195/sterek-week-day-1-in-which-games-are-played).

"Okay, Clauds baby, you drew an elephant, so you put your token on the elephant."

"Elephant!" Claudia repeated, and gleefully smacked her token onto the board.

"Melissa is a genius," Stiles declared. "This game is great." 

"This game has kept her happy and occupied for an hour," Derek said, drawing his own card and putting a token on the panda bear. "I may love it more than you." 

"Hey!" Stiles slapped him on the shoulder. "Just for that, I'm going to beat the _pants_ off you. Maybe even literally."

Derek smirked. "I'm glad she's not old enough to get that." 

"Daddy, _turn_!" Claudia shouted.

"Sorry, baby." Stiles quickly drew a card and put his token on the giraffe, blocking Derek's path. "Ha! Take that."

"Oh no," Derek said dryly. "However will I connect four tokens now?"

"You can't do it." Okay, so he probably could, if he got the right cards, but Stiles was going to ignore that right now. "Just admit it, I won." 

Derek's lips twitched. "No." 

"Monkey!" Claudia said, and slapped her blue token on the board. "Daddy, Papa, I got four!"

"You got four?" Stiles repeated, and then he actually looked at the board. "Wait, you got _four_?" 

"She did," Derek said.

Claudia threw her arms up in the air. "I win!" 

Stiles stared at the game board in shock. "Did we just lose to a three-year-old?" 

"We did," Derek said.

"Jake!" Claudia shouted, running off toward the play room. "Jake! Jake! I win!" 

"We just lost to a three-year-old," Stiles said again. 

"If you say it three times, it will magically become not true." 

Stiles elbowed him. "You're such an ass. Why do I love you?" 

"Mm." Derek grabbed him and yanked him into a hug, nosing at his neck. "No idea." 

Stiles wound his arms around Derek's neck and scratched his head. "It will forever remain a mystery." 

"You know, we could try another game, see if you have better luck," Derek said. "Your dad and Melissa also got her Candy Land. Maybe that's more your speed." 

Stiles jabbed his fingers into Derek's sides until they were both laughing too hard to breathe. 

(Claudia won Candy Land, too.)


	2. In Which a King and a Mage Meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical AU, royal AU, king!Derek, mage!Stiles, discussion of canonical character deaths.
> 
> Inspired by a prompt I received in July from lordfranzia, asking for Sterek as royal magicians for rival kingdoms, and geeky-sova‘s fantabulous [king!Derek](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/130084035345/geeky-sova-for-m-because-every-time-i-hear) art. [The Hedgehog Can Never Be Buggered At All (The Hedgehog Song)](http://www.lspace.org/fandom/songs/hedgehogsong.html) is from the Discworld series. 
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr [here.](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/131961519060/sterek-week-day-2-in-which-a-king-and-a-mage)

Derek walked through the cultivated gardens, breathing free for the first time in three days. It was his coronation celebration, and he ought to be happy, but every speech, every utterance of "Your Majesty" reminded him that his mother was gone. Derek now had to fill her shoes, her crown resting far too large on his own head. 

He closed his eyes and let the grief wash over him. Here, in the privacy of the gardens, this late at night, he could do that. He didn't have to put on a brave face. 

"You can bugger the dog, it'll come when you call, but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all!" 

Derek jerked his head up at the warbling voice. Who else was in the garden at this time of night?

He strode along the garden paths, following the tune, listening as the singer continued to list a truly astonishing number of animals that one could have one's way with (always excepting the hedgehog). 

Derek turned another corner and found himself at the gazebo at the center of the gardens. Someone lay on one of the stone benches outside the gazebo, twirling a light between his fingers, throwing it into the air on beat with his song. 

"You can bugger the seal, you can bugger the eel, you can bugger the crab, though they say—"

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Derek demanded. 

The man scrambled upright, his light winking out as he did. Now that he was standing, Derek recognized him: the mage Stilinski, from the McCall court, King Scott's most trusted advisor and one of the many people here for the coronation festivities. 

Derek stiffened immediately. "Mage Stilinski." 

Stilinski bowed deep. "Your Majesty. Forgive me. I didn't expect to see you here." 

"I imagine it's quite astonishing to see me walking about my own gardens," Derek said flatly. 

It was late. He was allowed to be a bit impolite. 

Stilinski chuckled. "True enough. I suppose it would be more accurate to say I didn't expect anyone _else_ to be awake and wandering the gardens at this hour. I assumed everyone else would be in bed. It has been a rather exhausting day, wouldn't you agree?" 

The cheek of the man, honestly. Derek suppressed a sigh of frustration. "You have no idea." 

"So, how much of my lovely tune did you hear?" Stilinski asked. 

His voice was light, teasing, but thanks to the light of the full moon, Derek could see the line of tension across his shoulders. 

"I've no intention of telling the guards you used magic on the castle grounds, if that's what you're asking," Derek said. 

Stilinski's eyes widened. "Are you a sympathizer, then?" 

Derek snorted. "Hardly. I don't wish to start my reign by causing trouble with one of our oldest allies, and King Scott would surely object to you being thrown into the dungeons." 

"Ah." Stilinski dropped his eyes to the ground and kicked at the stones, sending a tiny rock skittering over toward the rosebushes. "Well, I suppose there's not much more I can ask." 

Anger burned in his chest. He knew King Scott trusted this mage, but Derek trusted none of them. "I know how mages come by their power. I've seen what it can do. You can hardly expect me to sympathize."

Stilinski's eyes went hard. "I inherited my power the same way you did," he snapped. "My mother died for it." 

The words struck home, like a sword to his heart, striking grief still too fresh and new. "How...how _dare_ —"

Stilinski cursed and rubbed his hand over his face. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. Of all people, I should know better than to say such things. And two months gone is not the same as ten years."

Derek clenched his fists and turned to study the night roses until he could compose himself, speak without his voice breaking. "I suppose when I have had a decade to live with it, I will be able to be flippant as well." 

"I very much doubt that," Stilinski said quietly. 

Another deep breath, and Derek could bear looking back to Stilinski again. He looked oddly young, vulnerable, with a ghost of sadness on his features. He could not have been more than ten years old when his mother had passed, if even that. 

Maybe it was that look, or maybe it was the late hours, but Derek found himself asking, "Was it childbirth? Illness?" 

Stilinski laughed bitterly. "I wish. No. A dark druid named Julia abducted her, intending to take the magic for herself. Mother willed it to me instead." He looked down to his hands, curled his fingers in toward his palms. "It is a curse, isn't it, to wake one day with power you don't understand and never asked for?" 

The reminder of his duty to his country weighed on his shoulders. It wasn't the same thing at all, and yet, Derek felt an odd kinship with the mage standing in the dark, silent garden with him. "Before she died, I asked my mother why she chose me. Not my uncle, not my father, not my sisters. I thought any one of them would have made a better ruler, but..." His throat tightened painfully, and he had to pause before he could speak again. "She said that much power must be left with someone you trust implicitly to protect it." 

Stilinski watched him, amber eyes seeming to glow in the moonlight. "Her Majesty was very wise." 

Derek could only nod in agreement. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wishing he could rid himself of this incessant grief, the nagging voice inside his head that told him he _wasn't_ strong enough to do this, no matter what his mother believed. It was exhausting, and now all he wanted to do was crawl into his bed and sleep for a month. 

But that wouldn't be possible. Tomorrow he had to rise and begin his first day as king. 

"It is late," he finally said. "I would recommend you retire to your rooms, or failing that, find a slightly warmer place to practice your magic. It gets cooler out here closer to dawn. Good night, Mage Stilinski." 

"Stiles." 

Derek paused and turned back to face him. "What?" 

Stilinski was suddenly much closer than before, his mouth twitching into a grin. "Mage Morrell prefers her title. I don't. Call me Stiles." 

This close, Derek could see how tall Stilinski was, barely half an inch shorter than Derek himself. A series of three moles dotted the pale skin along his jaw, and he smelled of spice and fire. 

Derek's heart beat faster for reasons he didn't care to examine. "It's a bit familiar, to give me leave to call you by your chosen name." 

Stilinski shrugged, his robes rippling with the movement. "So? A secluded midnight rendezvous in the garden." He winked saucily. "I think it's all right if we're a bit _familiar_." 

Derek choked, his face heating with the implications. "I—you—this wasn't—we didn't—"

Stilinski laughed, but he didn't move away. Instead, he bowed with a flourish, and produced a brilliantly purple rose from thin air. "Your virtue is safe with me, Your Majesty. I promise." 

Derek stared at the proffered rose, taking it more out of reflex than anything. "Derek," he found himself stammering. 

Stilinski straightened and raised his eyebrows. "Did my ears deceive me, or did Your Majesty just give me permission to use _his_ name?" 

Derek clutched the rose a little tighter. "You have given me permission to use yours. It seems only fair." 

Stiles broke into a smile, genuine and surprised, and it took Derek's breath away. "Well then. I promise to take very good care of that generous gift." He bowed again, and when Derek blinked, Stiles was once again a respectable several feet away. "Good night, my lord Derek." 

Derek inclined his head. "Good night, Stiles." 

He made his way back to the palace, purple rose held close to his chest, and smiling at the off-key words of the hedgehog song drifting through the night air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Now with a sequel!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9901019)


	3. In Which Hunters Kidnap The Wrong One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurt!Derek, drugged!Derek, magic!Stiles, BAMF!Stiles, established relationship, canon-typical violence.
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr [here](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/132048539090/sterek-week-day-3-in-which-hunters-kidnap-the).

One of the hunters backhands him across the face, and Derek giggles. _Giggles._ Some tiny part of his brain knows that is not an appropriate reaction to being hit, but he can't help it. He has no idea what they put into the wolfsbane they dosed him with, but it is _fantastic_. 

"Can you get him to stop?" the other hunter says. "The giggling's freaking me out."

The one in front of him stands back and frowns. "I'm beginning to think they gave us a weird strand. At least it's keeping him from healing." 

Derek frowns. He can feel blood dripping down his arms, from a cut on his head, but it doesn't hurt. He's not sure if that's an effect of the wolfsbane or...something else. 

He tries to stand up, but his feet and arms are tied tightly to the chair, and he overbalances and manages to fall. Stiles would be laughing _so_ _hard_ at him, and the mental picture makes Derek giggle again. 

The first hunter slaps a hand over his face. "This is ridiculous. We're never going to be able to get anything out of him like this." 

"Sure we are." The other hunter walks over and yanks Derek's chair upright again. "I bet you being all floaty right now is gonna make you _real_ cooperative. Right? You want to tell us about Scott McCall?" 

Derek takes a deep breath and blows a raspberry.

The hunters curse in unison. "Fine," the second one says. "We can just wait until it wears off. It's not like anyone will be coming for this guy anyway." 

Derek shakes his head. "Nuh-uh. Stiles'll come." 

"Stiles?" The second hunter looks at the first one, who shrugs. "What the hell is a Stiles?" 

"Stiles's my boyfriend," Derek says proudly. "He asked me to be Harley Quinn to his Mistah J this year. Last year we were Batman and Robin. He always comes for me. He's pretty." 

"There's not a wolf named Stiles on our list," the first hunter says. 

The second hunter snorts. "Probably just a human, then. Nothing we need to worry about." 

Derek _guffaws_. He can't help it. It's ridiculous. _They're_ ridiculous. He laughs so hard his side finally starts to hurt, the first pain he's felt since they gave him the good wolfsbane. 

"What's so funny?" the first hunter asks. 

The second one waves it off. "He's stoned." 

It's another minute before Derek can breathe enough to talk. "You...you don't think you need to worry? About Stiles?" He laughs again. "You're dumb."

The first hunter stalks back toward him. "Say that again." 

"You're dumb," Derek obliges. "It's the full moon, you kidnapped me, and you think _I'm_ the scary one."

Both hunters frown, like they can't grasp the very simple concept that Derek is _not_ the dangerous one in this situation, and then the front door of the cabin shatters, sending wood splinters flying everywhere. 

The hunters spring away from Derek and grab for their guns, aiming at the smoke spilling through the doorway. Stiles strides in, his purple suit muddied at the hems and his arms wreathed in blue-white flames. His white makeup is streaked, and the red slash across his mouth looks more like a bloody streak than the smile it's supposed to mimic.

He bares his teeth and holds up his hands. The fire crackles. "Hello, boys. Want to see a magic trick?" 

"Holy shit," one of the hunters says.

"Hi Stiles!" Derek calls, and promptly passes out. 

***

He comes to only a few minutes later—it has to be just a few minutes, because they're still in the cabin. The hunters must be gone, though, because Stiles is crouched in front of him, unknotting the ropes at his feet and muttering angrily to himself. 

"Stupid hunters coming after us on stupid Halloween and taking stupid werewolves who leave their stupid _phones at home_ —"

"I thought they were parents," Derek says. "With the trick-or-treaters."

Stiles's head snaps up, and his face does something complicated under his Joker makeup. "Oh my _God_ , Derek, are you okay?" His hands fly up to Derek's face, cupping his cheeks, tracing along his forehead. "You're not healing. Do you know what they gave you? Are you hurt anywhere lethal? Oh God, I need to call—" 

"Shhhh." Derek tries to hush him, and rubs his cheek against Stiles's hand. "Nothing fatal. Just cuts and bruises. They were dumb." 

"They were—" Stiles stops, stares at him. "Dude, did they give you drugs?" 

"Wolfsbane." Derek frowns. "It makes me feel floaty." He drops his gaze to his own costume. "Oh...they ripped up my suit. I'm sorry. I can't be Harley Quinn anymore." 

"Do you think I give a shit about that?" Stiles's long fingers rest on the back of his neck, tugging him forward so their foreheads press together. "Do you have any idea how scared I was when we got to your house and the door was open and you were _gone_? Fuck, Derek, I—"

Derek attempts to nuzzle him, but it doesn't work very well. "I told them you'd come for me. They didn't believe me. They were dumb. You always come for me." 

"Damn right I do," Stiles says, his voice thick, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle on Derek's neck. "I'll always come find you. You're never getting rid of me." 

That sounds like a good plan. "Are you gonna take me home?" 

"God, yes," Stiles says. "I'm taking you straight to your place and we're cleaning you off and you are sleeping until you're healed and this wolfsbane’s out of your system." 

Stiles is right; he _is_ tired. Derek yawns. "'Kay. Will you sleep with me?"

"Yeah." Stiles loops one of Derek's arms around his shoulders, helps him stand. "Like I said, you're never getting rid of me." 

"Good." Derek can nuzzle Stiles now, so he does, pressing his face into Stiles's neck and breathing in. There's makeup and sweat and magic and that godawful green spray-on hair color, but he can pick out Stiles's scent under all of it, and it settles something inside him. "Don't wanna get rid of you. Wanna keep you forever. Gonna put a ring on it." 

Stiles barks out a laugh. "Yeah, sure. We are _definitely_ having this conversation tomorrow, because I want to see your face when I tell you that you proposed while high on wolfsbane." 

Derek pouts. "Still gonna mean it." 

Stiles kisses him on the cheek. "Sure you are, big guy." 

***

The next morning, Derek leaves the ring he's had in his sock drawer for the past two months next to Stiles's head. Stiles chucks it back at him and demands a non-wolfsbane-induced proposal. 

Derek happily obliges.  



	4. In Which There is Apple Pie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baker!Stiles, sculptor!Derek, overbearing!Talia. 
> 
> I used the color names from [this palette](http://41.media.tumblr.com/34b0ac18339fb725289426ab8199a3db/tumblr_nwkyms6PGw1uehe97o7_500.jpg) to prompt this fic. I think I managed to use all of them? Thanks to bleep0bleep for the beta read!
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr [here](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/132129323345/sterek-week-day-4-in-which-there-is-apple-pie).

"Order up!" Stiles yelled, ringing the bell on the counter between the kitchen and the diner. 

Allison swept up to the window, loading plates on her arm with practiced ease. "Lumberjack's at table four," she said with a wink. "He wants apple pie." 

Stiles only just restrained himself from leaping out of the kitchen to look. "His name is Derek, and he makes furniture," he corrected as calmly as he could. 

Allison's eyes sparkled. "Mm-hmm. And he looks like a lumberjack, smells like pine trees, and makes you think of all _sorts_ of places you'd like his beard." 

He was never getting drunk with Allison again. Clearly she intended to use _all_ his rambling about Derek against him until the end of time. "You're a terrible human being," Stiles said. "Oh, hey, Scott just walked in!"

"What?" Allison spun around and didn't dislodge a single plate. "Where?" 

Stiles used the distraction to duck away from the window and grab his special Granny Smith apple pie out of the fridge. He'd probably have to make another two before the end of the day, but there was still half of this one left. 

He warmed the pie in the oven and cut an extra-large slice, then topped it with the biggest scoop of vanilla ice cream he could get. Derek didn't want to admit it, but everybody in town knew he had a gigantic sweet tooth. Maggie and Parker down at the Beacon Daily Roast said it took him _two months_ of coming in regularly before he quit ordering black coffee and started getting a caramel latte.

Stiles debated putting a flower on the plate, but decided that would be too on-the-nose. He and Derek had been dancing around each other for months now—at least, Stiles chose to assume it was awkward flirting they were engaging in—and Stiles didn't want to make it too obvious. He still wasn't a hundred percent sure Derek liked guys. 

He bumped the kitchen door with his hip and sauntered down the aisle to table four. Derek was wearing a plaid flannel shirt that hugged his shoulders and biceps deliciously and made Stiles want to Do Things. Sexy Things.

Stiles slid the plate in front of him. "Hey, Ally A told me you were looking for some apple pie."

Derek looked up with a small smile, his cheeks flushing adorably under his beard. "Smells delicious. Thank you, Stiles." 

Stiles was torn between taking him home and cuddling with him and taking him home and ripping all his clothes off. "Just let me know if you need anything else." 

Derek clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. "Well, actually, I was wondering—" 

"Oh, thank _God_ , a server, finally." 

Stiles spun to see a well-dressed woman with dark hair and piercing green eyes standing behind him. Her makeup was impeccable and she looked outstandingly out of place. 

"Uh, can I help you?" he asked. 

Derek scrambled to his feet. "Mom, this is Stiles Stilinski. He's the owner of the Timberwolf Diner. Stiles, my mother, Talia Hale." 

Stiles plastered a smile on his face and held out his hand. "Ms. Hale, nice to meet you." 

Talia's eyes flicked from Stiles's hand to his face and back again, and then she slid into the booth across from Derek without even attempting to shake. "Mr. Stilinski, perhaps you can help me. Why does my son persist in staying out here in this God-forsaken town in the middle of nowhere when he has a perfectly good job and a fiancée waiting for him back in New York?" 

Stiles felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. "A what?" 

"Mom!" Derek sounded horrified. "Paige and I broke the engagement six months ago. You know that." 

Talia scoffed. "Please, the Krasikevas are a _very_ influential family. I'm sure if you went and talked to her, you could fix whatever problem you had." 

" _I'm gay_ ," Derek said through gritted teeth.

Talia waved her hand. "She would make a lovely wife, regardless. Oh, her brother David's available too, I believe. Would that be more appealing to you?" 

Derek buried his face in his hands. "Oh my God, Mom." 

Stiles was torn between celebrating—Derek did like guys!—and being shocked speechless. He'd known Derek had had a life before he'd come to Beacon Hills, but Derek had kept to himself on that account and no one had tried terribly hard to unearth the information.

"Really, Derek." Talia set her purse on the table. "I don't know why you ran all the way across the country and set up shop in this dirty old town."

"Because I wasn't happy," Derek said, his face entirely red now. "I wasn't happy working with upscale galleries and selling sculptures to rich people who didn't care about the art, just my name. I wasn't happy with Paige, we were always better as friends." 

"Oh, now that's just ridiculous. People cared plenty for your art." Talia turned to Stiles. "Now, Mr. Stilinski, tell me. Would you give up an extremely successful art career in New York for a life," she flicked her hand around the diner, "someplace like this?" 

Stiles had no idea why he was getting pulled into this family squabble, but he didn't even have to think about his answer. "Hell yeah I would. In a fucking heartbeat." 

Talia's eyes widened, and she couldn't have looked more surprised if he'd slapped her. 

"Well, it wasn't New York," Stiles admitted. "And it wasn't an art career. It was Los Angeles, and a restaurant. But I hated it. I missed my hometown. I missed my mom's restaurant—and that's what this is, by the way." He gestured around the interior of the well-loved Timberwolf Diner. "My mother started it when she first moved to Beacon Hills. So I know the answer to your question, because that's what I _did_. It's scary as shit to give up a successful job and follow your heart, and if Derek did that, then it makes him one of the bravest men I know."

Talia and Derek both gaped at him, and for the first time, Stiles noticed the diner was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. 

Heat started to creep up the back of his neck, but Stiles held his head high and cleared his throat. "Now if you'll excuse me, Ms. Hale, I need to get back to my kitchen. Allison will be with you shortly." 

He spun on his heel and stalked away, both because he didn't want to wait for a response and because his anger on Derek's behalf was bleeding out into embarrassment at having caused a scene in front of the entire restaurant. He didn't regret what he'd said, but he kind of wished it had been somewhere more private.

At least he could spend the rest of the day holed up in his kitchen and talking only to Allison and Scott. And making pies. Making pies was a fantastic way to work off embarrassment, Stiles had found. 

That happy thought lasted all of ten minutes, when someone rapped lightly on the kitchen door and Derek poked his head in. "Hey." 

Stiles dropped his rolling pin on his foot and cursed. 

Derek's eyes went wide. "Are you—I'm sorry, Allison said it was okay—"   

"No!" Stiles grabbed the rolling pin and took it over to the sink to wash. "I mean yes, it's okay. It's fine. Just stay over there, out of the food area."

Derek slid into the kitchen and closed the door. He might have been smiling, but it was difficult for Stiles to tell with his beard. "Did you know Allison has a minor in sociology and gender studies?"

"I did." Stiles looked up from his rolling pin. "Did you?" 

"No." Derek full-out grinned. "My mom didn't, either." 

Stiles snorted. "How's that going?" 

"As entertainingly as you'd think," Derek said. His smile faded. "I don't think she's had this many people stand up to her since my dad died." 

The pain in Derek's voice made Stiles ache. He set the rolling pin aside and dried his hands on his apron. "Look, if I was out of line, I'll apologize. Not for what I said, because that was all true, but for the way I said it." He looked down at his stained apron and chuckled. "I'm not good with diplomacy."

"No," Derek said firmly. "Don't apologize. It...I've been trying to have that conversation with her for months, but she just doesn't listen. She wants..." He trailed off and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I just wanted to say thank you. For standing up for me." 

A thousand things flitted through Stiles's mind in response, but they came across as too flippant or too...too something. "Any time, big guy," he finally said. "Seriously, she ever tries that kind of stuff again, come find me. I'll put her in her place. Anybody in this town would. We lo—like you. We like you a lot." He spun back to the sink, his face burning. "You should stick around." 

Derek didn't say anything for the longest time, and Stiles felt like he'd revealed _way_ too much about his own thoughts and feelings. Time to busy his hands, and fast. 

Apples. He needed to chop apples. 

He'd moved to another counter and had just started peeling his next batch when he heard Derek clear his throat. "The town wants me to stick around, or...or you do?" 

Stiles focused very, very hard on the peeler in his hands. "The town, definitely. And, you know...me too. Maybe." 

"Maybe?" 

Holy _shit_ , Derek's voice was way closer than it had been before. Stiles snapped his head up to see Derek _right there_ , barely a foot away from him, his pale, multi-colored eyes wide and earnest. 

Stiles swallowed hard. "Um. Yeah. Definitely maybe. Or maybe definitely?" 

Derek inched closer, and Stiles swore he could feel the heat of his body all along his side. "She was half-right," Derek said quietly. "I was running away, when I first came here. It was just...too much, after my dad died." 

Stiles's heart pounded faster. He was dimly aware that he needed to be cooking, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Derek. 

"And then." Derek cleared his throat. "Then I found something—someone—I didn't know I needed. And I realized maybe I wasn't just running. Maybe I'd been searching for something, and it took my dad to wake me up and tell me to go look for it."

"What did you find?" Stiles asked, his voice breathless. 

"I—"

The bell on the counter rang, breaking the moment and making Stiles jump half a mile in the air. He spun to see Allison leaning against the window. "Oh my _God_ , Allison!" 

She looked distinctly unimpressed. "Can you two get your shit together _after_ the lunch rush is over? Because I've got tables waiting for orders now."  

Stiles hissed and waved her away. "Go flirt with Scott! I'll be thirty seconds!" 

Allison rolled her eyes, but she left the window. 

Stiles turned back to Derek, but Derek had moved a little further away, a small smile still playing on his face. "I meant you," he said, so quick Stiles almost missed it. 

His heart seized with joy at the thought, and Stiles had to clench his fists to keep from jumping up and down. "Oh? So, if I asked if you were free on Friday night, for a date-type thing, what would you say?" 

Derek's white smile split his beard. "For a date-type thing with you? I'd say yes." 

"Okay." Stiles was pretty sure his own smile rivaled Derek's. "Then, want to have a date-type thing on Friday? Say, dinner?  I know this great restaurant that is, surprisingly, not the diner." 

Derek actually laughed. It was beautiful. "Yeah. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot." 

"Good. Great." Stiles's _cheeks_ were hurting, he was smiling so much. "I'll pick you up at seven?" 

"Sounds perfect. I'll see you then." Derek backed his way out of the kitchen. "I, um, I have a piece of apple pie to finish off." 

"Share some with your mom." Stiles turned back to his pile of apples. "I have it on good authority that my apple pie is the most persuasive argument anyone can make." 

Derek laughed and ducked his head. "I'll keep that in mind." 

The door swung shut behind him, leaving Stiles alone in the kitchen with his pies once more. Holy shit. He had a date. He had a date with _Derek_. This was actually happening. Holy shit, this was actually happening. 

He did a little shimmy in the middle of the kitchen. 

" _Stiles_!" Allison barked from the window. 

He jumped again and darted for the tickets hanging in the window. "Sorry, sorry! I'm cooking, I swear." 

" _Thank_ you," Allison said gratefully, and then she winked. "And I hope you tell me about that date." 

Stiles stuck out his tongue. "Not a chance."   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, "Maggie and Parker" is 100% a Leverage reference. :-D


	5. In Which There Is a Hug and a Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical AU, movie fusion (Pirates of the Caribbean), pirate!Stiles, pirate!Derek, canon-typical violence, established relationship, proposal fic.
> 
> (Note: Most of the other listed characters appear in this one.)
> 
> I was debating between Stereking [the hug at the end of “The Grave Danger Job”](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/119450533938/scottmotherfuckinmccall-hardisonhardison-you) and the [wedding at the end of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvenEcIHw8E), and bleep0bleep dared me to do both. So. Yeah. That’s what happened.
> 
> Thanks to bleep0bleep for the beta as well!
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr [here.](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/132189676120/sterek-week-day-5-in-which-there-is-a-hug-and-a)

" _HEAVE!_ " 

Derek yanked on the chain as hard as he could, planting one foot against the deck's railing and hauling back. His muscles strained, the rain pounded at him, and the maelstrom threatened to tear the ship apart. Still, he clung to the chain, standing strong against the powers of the sea and storm. He would die before he would let Calypso claim this coffin. 

" _HEAVE!_ " Scott yelled again. 

Inch by inch, he, Scott, and Boyd dragged the chain—and the coffin it held—up the side of the ship. Cora, Erica, Kira, and Allison stood behind them, weapons out and on guard. The crew of the _Flying Dutchman_ hadn't made it onto the _Black Pearl_ just yet, but with each passing moment the ghost ship drew closer. Derek waited for the cry that would let them know they were being boarded, but thus far, it hadn't come. 

_Just let me get him back_ , Derek prayed, to whoever would listen. _Please, just let him be all right_.

"Once more will have it!" Boyd yelled over the roar of the storm. 

"Then put your backs into it!" Scott ordered.

They pulled together, and the coffin toppled over the railing onto the deck of the ship. Derek lunged for it, grappling with the clasps, his fingers slipping with how wet they were and how hard he shook. Boyd and Scott knelt beside him, grabbing for the other clasps, and together they opened the coffin, flinging the top aside.

Derek reached and hauled Stiles—gasping for air, now soaked to the bone, but alive, thank God, _alive_ —out of the coffin and into his arms. He pressed his face into Stiles's neck, heedless of everything but the warmth of Stiles's skin and the way his arms wrapped around Derek in return. 

"Don't ever do that again," Derek whispered, pressing a kiss into Stiles's neck between the words. "Don't...don't... _don't ever do that again_."

Stiles laughed weakly, and it turned into a soft sob. "I won't. I won't. I promise." 

Boyd clapped Derek on the back. "As touching as this reunion is, we're about to have company. A lot of company."

Derek tore his face away from Stiles long enough to see the shadow of the _Dutchman_ looming over them through the sheets of rain. The silhouettes of the undead crew armed themselves, preparing to swing over and board the _Pearl_.  

"Sword." Stiles squeezed Derek's shoulders. "I need a sword." 

"Here!" Allison yelled, tossing Stiles's sword at them.

Derek stood, helping Stiles to his feet, handed him the sword. Stiles's long fingers wrapped around the hilt, over Derek's, and he smiled shakily. "Once more unto the breach, yeah?" 

Derek nodded jerkily. "Once more, love."  

Stiles kissed him, hard, desperate, and far too short for Derek's liking. He wanted—God, he wanted _this_ , wanted Stiles, wanted—

"Marry me," he said as soon as they broke the kiss. 

Stiles gaped at him, rain dripping from his hair and eyelashes. "What?" 

"Incoming off the port bow!" Cora yelled. "A dozen men at least, keep your swords ready!" 

Derek gripped Stiles's hand harder. "Marry me," he said again. "Right now." 

"Now?" Stiles's eyes flickered to port side. "We're being boarded! I don't think now is the best time!"

"Come at us, you scurvy bastards!" Peter shouted from his position at the helm. 

"Stiles," Derek said, bringing Stiles's attention back to him. "Now may be the only time we have!" 

Shouts echoed around them, and the other crew landed against the deck with resounding thuds. Derek drew his sword, preparing to fight, but didn't take his eyes from Stiles. "I don't want to lose you again. I want to be your husband. Please, just let me know what you want." 

He heard footsteps behind him and spun, bringing his sword up just in time to parry the one swinging at his head. Derek kicked out, knocking the other pirate off-balance, and then thrust his sword at the pirate's neck in a killing blow. Or at least a stunning blow; he had no idea how effective the swords would be against these half-men, half-sea creatures. 

Derek swung back around to face Stiles. "What do you want?" 

Stiles stared at him, frozen for a mere span of heartbeats, and then shouted, "Peter!" 

Derek blinked. That was definitely not an outcome he'd anticipated. 

"Peter!" Stiles shouted again. "Marry us!" 

Peter kicked one of the attacking pirates over the ship's wheel and ran his sword through another. "I'm a little busy at the moment!" 

"Peter, now!" Derek yelled, and turned just in time to block another pirate's blow. 

"Oh, _fine_." Somehow Peter managed to sound put-upon even in the midst of a battle. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today," he ran his sword through another of the _Dutchman_ 's crew, "to join these two idiots in holy matrimony! Derek, do you— _I will nail you to the mast, you mangy cur_!" 

"Down!" Stiles yelled, and Derek ducked, spinning to the side. 

Stiles ran his sword through a pirate with a shark's head, planting his foot and bringing his sword up just in time to block another attack. "Derek, do you take me to be your husband, for as long as we both shall live?" 

"I do!" Derek parried a blow and sliced two tentacles off his attacker, and kicked him into another pirate. "Stiles, do you take me to be your husband, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live?"

Stiles cursed and smashed his fist into a pirate's face. "I do!" 

Derek plunged his sword into the pirate attacking Stiles, dropping him where he stood. Stiles winked. "My hero." 

"As captain of this ship," Peter shouted from his post, "I now pronounce you— _back into the sea with you!_ "

Another wave of pirates swung down from the _Dutchman_ , four of them running straight for Derek and Stiles. 

"You may now kiss— _argh!_ " 

Derek lunged at the pirates, taking on two of them at once, leaving the other two for Stiles. He may have been the better swordsman, but Stiles could easily hold his own against these rats. 

"You may now—" Peter's voice came again on the wind, cutting off in a litany of creative curses. 

Derek would have laughed if he weren't so busy fighting. He cut down one of his opponents, turning just in time to block the other.

"Oh, just kiss!" Peter yelled. 

Derek swung around, shoving his second opponent away, sending him skidding across the deck. He turned around, swinging his sword up again—

And found himself face-to-face with Stiles, parrying his sword with his own. 

Derek grabbed Stiles around the waist and yanked him close, and Stiles fisted his free hand in Derek's hair. Their kiss was impossibly hot against the cold of the storm, tasting of rain and wind, and it felt like everything inside Derek slid into perfectly into place. 

_Mine_ , he thought dizzily. _My husband_.

"Mr. Hale," he whispered against Stiles's lips.

He felt Stiles smile into the kiss. "Mr. Stilinski." 

Somewhere on the deck, Derek dimly heard their crew cheering, recognized Boyd's piercing whistle and Erica's hoots. 

"Yes, a lovely ceremony," Peter drawled. "Now if you don't mind, we have some more pressing concerns!" 

"Oh, fine!" Stiles yelled. "I'm killing every one of these monsters, and then I'm taking my husband on a honeymoon for a month!" 

Despite the storm, despite the creaking of the ship that threatened to break apart at any moment, despite the other pirates bearing down on them, Derek laughed. "Aye. Somewhere warm. With a beach." 

Stiles winked. "And no clothes." 

Derek quickly kissed his hand. "As you wish." 

And then he turned to face the onslaught once more, this time with his husband at his side. 


	6. In Which There Are Stories to Be Told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future fic, pre-slash, childhood friends
> 
> Based on the song [Laughter Lines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ccFSXgdv5U) by Bastille. Thanks to bleep0bleep for the beta!
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr [here.](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/132247652345/sterek-week-day-6-in-which-there-are-stories-to)

When he was fifteen years old, Derek Hale followed nine-year-old Stiles Stilinski into the Preserve, where Stiles showed him a massive tree stump, wide enough they could both sit on it. 

Stiles ran his hands across the rings. "Mrs. Carver says that each ring is one year. So we can count them to see how old the tree is." He looked up at Derek, his scent spiking sour with grief. "My mom said each one has a story, like the wrinkles on old people's faces. That's why kids don't have wrinkles. We don't have stories yet." 

It was the most Derek had heard Stiles say about his mother in the past six months. He felt large and clumsy and awkward as he tried to answer. "We'll have stories someday." 

Stiles frowned and dropped his gaze back to the tree. "My mom won't be around to hear them, though." 

Derek elbowed him gently. "My dad says our ancestors returned to the trees of the Preserve, watching over the town and our family."

Stiles made a face. "That's not your dad, that's The Lion King. Only with stars instead of trees." 

Derek rolled his eyes. "The point's the same, dork. Your mom will see your stories. She'll hear them. And even if she doesn't..." He shrugged. "I'll hear them." 

Stiles looked up at him again, hopeful. "Yeah?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah." 

***

Five months later, Derek's family was dead and he left Beacon Hills. He didn't see Stiles again for six years. 

And then it was two more years of heart-pounding terror, of building a pack only to lose them all again, of demon foxes and kanimas and alphas and death, and Derek severed his ties with Beacon Hills completely. 

He left again, because if he didn't, Beacon Hills would kill him just like it had the rest of his family. And for the first time in eight years, Derek didn't want to die. 

His only regret was leaving Stiles behind as well. 

***

It had been nearly 10 years since he'd left Beacon Hills the second time when Derek smelled it. Standing in a used bookstore in Tulsa, Oklahoma, surrounded by the musty scent of old books and older magic, he inhaled and caught a whiff of _sweet-cinnamon-sharp-home_. 

He hadn't smelled that scent in a decade, but it was so achingly familiar Derek had to grip the bookshelf to steady himself. 

He followed the scent, weaving his way through the narrow aisles and overstuffed shelves, until he turned the corner and saw Stiles leafing through an ancient leather tome. He was taller, broader than Derek remembered, with a shadow of scruff on his jaw and black glasses perched on his nose and a scar down the side of his face. He frowned intently at his book, running long fingers over the pages, the concentration on his face taking Derek back a decade, washing away the years between them. 

Derek didn't make a sound, could've _sworn_ he didn't make a sound, but Stiles jerked his head up from the book and looked right at him. 

Time stopped, for a moment, like the world held its breath, and then Stiles broke into a blinding grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, I'll be damned. Derek Hale." 

Derek smiled. "Stiles Stilinski."

Stiles laughed and set the book down, striding over to wrap Derek in a back-slapping hug. The _sweet-cinnamon-sharp-home_ smell got stronger, and Derek had to restrain himself from burying his nose in Stiles's neck and just breathing in. 

He held on a beat longer than necessary before he pulled back. "It's been awhile."

"Too damn long." Stiles's eyes flicked over his face. "You look...good. I mean that. Like—"

"Thank you," Derek said. He was still dealing, but he felt lighter now than he ever had in Beacon Hills. "So do you." 

Stiles raked a hand through his hair. "Heh, thanks, big guy."

He sounded so happy, so bright, so much different from the last time Derek had seen him that it was painful to hear. Derek nodded at Stiles's scar. "Looks like there's a story behind that." 

Stiles laughed and rubbed his hand over it. "Yeah, it's a long one. I think I've got a few of those, now."

"Scars or stories?" Derek asked. 

"Both. Definitely both."

A memory drifted up in the back of his mind, a teenager and a boy sitting on a stump in the middle of the woods. Derek swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and his heart pounding. "I'd like to hear them." 

"Oh yeah?" 

"I told you once I would." 

Stiles's smile faded to confusion, then to realization. "So you did." His face brightened again, the tang of hope tinting the edges of his scent. "Want to hear them over coffee?" 

Something in Derek's chest settled, that sense of _home_ enveloping him like a warm hug. "I'd love that." 

"Yeah?" Stiles sounded just as hopeful as the last time he'd asked the question, sixteen years before. 

And for the first time in a long time, Derek felt hopeful as well. "Yeah."  



	7. In Which There Is An Accidental Scare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halloween, single dad!Stiles, uncle!Derek, trick-or-treating. 
> 
> Based on this prompt from [this list](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/131504814040/15-au-prompts-pt-4-halloween-edition): “Accidentally scared a kid and their adult is angry,” as requested by mynuet.
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr [here](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com/post/132305047735/sterek-week-day-7-in-which-there-is-an).

In retrospect, Derek probably shouldn't have listened to his niece. 

"He's a werewolf, Uncle Derek!" Abby said impatiently. "You should scare him!" 

So of course, Derek did what he had been doing all Halloween: he dropped his fangs and flashed his eyes and snarled a little at the kid Abby had pointed to. 

Only the miniature Batman didn't react the way most other kids did, which was to gasp and run away and excitedly tell their friends and parents about _how it wasn't makeup and there's a real monster!_

Instead, the kid screamed bloody murder—loud enough that other parents spun around to stare at them—and practically _flew_ into a man's arms, the scream dissolving into tears as he did.

Derek barely had time to think _uh-oh_ before the guy whirled on him, eyes blazing with anger. He stalked forward, holding his little Batman protectively. "What the fu—fudge, man?"

Derek held up his hands and hoped he looked contrite. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—" 

The man's voice dropped dangerously low. "Who sent you?"

That was not the follow-up question Derek had been expecting. "What?" 

The man leaned closer, fury and fear spicing the air with a peppery scent. Abby whined and buried her face in Derek's jeans. 

"I said, who sent you?" the man said. "Was it Burke? Jones? Daniels? Which cowardly son of a bit—biscuit eater sent you after my son?" 

"No one?" Derek had no idea how the conversation had taken this turn. "I'm just taking my niece around for trick-or-treating, like everyone else on Halloween." He gestured to the semi-crowded street around them to prove his point. "I swear, we're not trying to hurt you. Wait. Is someone trying to hurt you?" 

The man clapped his mouth shut, and his eyes darted around, as if he were looking for an escape.

Shit. He'd really managed to step in it this time. "I can help you," Derek said, as gently and quietly as he could. "I'm Derek Hale. My mother is Talia. She's—" 

That got the man's attention, and he visibly sagged, the protective anger and tension vanishing from the air. "Hale? Oh my God." He chuckled and wiped a hand over his face. "No, I know your mom. I can't believe I didn't recognize you." 

Derek frowned, but he didn't see anything familiar about the man. "Do we know each other?" 

The guy shifted his kid to his other hip and held out his hand. "Stiles Stilinski. My dad was—" 

The name clicked it in Derek's head, and now he could pick out the gangly kid with the buzzcut who'd somehow grown up into this tall, wiry man. "Sheriff Stilinski, yeah, I remember." He shook Stiles's hand. "God, what's it been? Fifteen years?" 

"Close to that." Stiles rubbed a hand over his kid's back. "This is Cody. He's almost four and he's, well, he's like you two."

"Yeah." Derek patted his niece's head. "This is Abby, by the way. My sister Laura's kid. Abby, say hi to Mr. Stiles." 

Abby obediently held out her hand. "Hi, Mr. Stiles. Hi, Cody. I'm sorry we scared you." 

Cody buried his face in his dad's neck, but Stiles reached down and shook Abby's hand. "That's okay, Abby. I know you didn't mean it." His gaze flicked back to Derek, apologetic now. "We haven't had the best interactions with blue-eyed wolves, so—" 

Abby bristled and stepped in front of Derek. "There's nothing wrong with blue eyes! They're just as pretty as yellow ones and Uncle Derek is _not_ a bad wolf. He'd never hurt—"

Derek picked her up before she could get any more in Stiles's face. "It's okay, Abby. That's not what he meant." He gave Stiles a flat look. "We've had a few hunters come through with some archaic ideas about blue eyes." 

Stiles had the decency to look a little sheepish. "Sorry. I know your mom, and your pack. You're good people. You took in my buddy Scott when he got bitten by a rogue Alpha a few years ago." 

"McCall?" Another piece clicked into place. "You're the friend of his that just moved back to town." 

Stiles grinned. "That would be me, yes."

Derek couldn't believe he hadn't picked up on that; McCall hadn't shut up about Stiles coming back for three months straight. "Well, it's good to meet you. And again, I'm sorry about—" He nodded at Cody. "I didn't mean to actually scare him." 

Stiles shook his head. "It's okay, dude. There's no way you could've known." 

"Uncle Derek." Abby bounced in his arms. "Uncle Derek, are we going to finish trick-or-treating?" 

Derek set her down. "Yeah, we are." 

"We have to hurry, or we'll be late for the party!" She turned and looked up at Stiles, tipping back her witch's hat. "Are you going to Nana's party, Mr. Stiles?" 

"Oh." Stiles's eyes darted away. "Uh, Scott invited me, but I haven't decided." 

"Come," Derek blurted out, and inwardly smacked himself for that. He cleared his throat. "You should come. It's a lot of fun, and there will be a lot of kids there for Cody to play with."

Stiles chewed on his lip, worrying the lower one in his teeth. It was...surprisingly distracting. "Yeah," he finally said. "Okay, we'll go. Sound good, Cody? You want to go to a party and see Uncle Scott and Aunt Allison?" 

"After trick-or-treating?" Cody said, his voice muffled in Stiles's neck. 

"Of _course_ after trick-or-treating," Abby said, rolling her whole head instead of just her eyes. It was a miracle her hat didn't fall off. "Trick-or-treating's the best part of Halloween. We can't miss it!" 

"Why don't we finish up together?" Derek suggested. "Might be nice if Abby has another kid to trick-or-treat with instead of just her uncle." 

"Yes!" Abby shouted, and then ducked her head. "But you _are_ the best trick-or-treat partner, Uncle Derek." 

"Thanks for the ego boost," Derek said dryly. 

Stiles smiled and set Cody back on the ground. "Yeah. I think...yeah, that would be good."

"Come on!" Abby grabbed Cody's hand, and in a flash, they were running off down the street to the next house. 

"Abby, slow down!" Derek yelled. 

She stopped and stomped her foot. "Come on, Uncle Derek! They might run out of candy!" 

Cody jumped up and down next to her. "Come on! Come on!"

Stiles laughed and ran his hand through his hair. "This was either a fantastic idea or a terrible one." 

Derek hesitated. "If you don't—if you'd rather it just be you and Cody, that's—"

"No!" Stiles shook his head. "No, no. That's not what I meant. I'd like to trick-or-treat with you. I'd like that a lot." 

Derek nodded up the street. "Then we should hoof it, before the kids run through the next three blocks without us." 

Said kids were already on the McMillan's front porch, screaming "trick-or-treat" loud enough that even humans could've heard it from a mile away.

"So, why do you have blue eyes?" Stiles asked. 

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Why are you worried there someone after you?" 

"Touché. Guess that's a story for when we know each other better, huh?" 

"Yeah." Derek took a deep breath, and admitted, "But I'm looking forward to knowing you well enough to hear it." 

Stiles's answering laugh warmed Derek through and through in the cold October air. "So am I."  


End file.
